Compromise
by Racing Capybaras
Summary: Four months after the Chitauri invasion, the barely functioning and guilt-ridden Clint is captured and forced to share a cell with Loki. Without no hope of rescue from the Avengers, Clint must confront his demons and work with Loki to escape with his life.
1. Chapter 1

**This plot bunny was wreaking havoc in my brain, so I thought I'd let it come out to play.**

* * *

"This is Hawkeye. The Target is heading to the hotel from the east entrance. No body guards in sight. You're clear, Widow."

"_Copy that, Hawk. I'm on the move_."

Clint Barton grunted and packed up his gear. He took one last glance over the edge of the building to ensure that the Target was still on course before making his way to the opposite ledge and climbing down the fire escape.

Reaching the bottom, he quickly cut through the alleys connecting the buildings and headed to his next perch where he would have a better view of Natasha and the Target. He caught a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye and whirled to face it while simultaneously notching an arrow. Under closer examination, it proved to be just a poster in a dumpster. An electric blue poster.

Clint sighed and continued on his course. It had been four months since the Avengers Initiative had saved Manhattan from the Chitauri army and the Council - who the Avengers blamed nearly as much as Loki – but this was his first mission since then. And he still couldn't get that bastard off his mind.

On one level, Clint knew that Loki was gone. The crazed god no longer had any physical or mental control over him. Still, sometimes Clint just couldn't shake off the lingering emotional effects.

He shook his head, clearing thoughts of Loki out of his mind. He needed to focus. He couldn't afford to screw up this mission. This was the first job S.H.I.E.L.D. had let him go on since he had been forced to turn traitor, and it needed to go perfectly. After the incident with Loki, he had been forced into taking leave. Fury called it a reward. Clint called it bullshit.

He knew that the Council – and Fury and all of S.H.I.E.L.D. for that matter – was watching him closely, waiting for the slightest hint that something wasn't right to have a formal excuse get rid of him. No one but Natasha trusted him anymore.

Natasha had been the one bright spot in this massive clusterfuck of a situation. She had defended him to Fury and the other higher ups, insisting that being mind-raped and then going to save the world anyway meant that Clint was fine and fully recovered. They had listened to her not so subtle threats and let Clint off without any major punishment, settling on the forced leave.

Though he was glad for his partner's passionate defense, Clint knew that Natasha wasn't being entirely truthful. He wasn't fully recovered and she knew it. She was there when the nightmares hit him, watched him carry the burden of what he had done under Loki's influence throughout the day. He could tell that she wanted to help him, but that she just didn't know how.

Neither did he.

That was why he needed this mission. He needed a return to normalcy. He needed to prove to everyone that he wasn't crazy.

Luckily, their Target was enough of a threat to make Fury forget all about Clint's situation. The man was a Canadian terrorist who had popped up on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar. Despite Natasha's initial scoffing and Clint's slightly ruder "_Seriously? A Canadian terrorist? I thought those guys were all maple syrup and smiles,_" the man had quickly proved far too dangerous to ignore. Which meant that Clint was back on the job.

As far as missions went, it wasn't too bad. Natasha was going to kill the Target while he was still on vacation, before he returned to his usual day-to-day of arms dealing in politically unstable countries. Clint would provide backup. They were in Vancouver for Christ's sake – it didn't even compare to the godforsaken countries without Starbucks franchises that their missions usually took place in. They even got to stay airconditioned.

Still, Clint missed the usual chatter over the communication system. To be fair, most of the chatter came from his end, but at some point Natasha and Coulson would join in and tell him to shut up. Clint shook his head. That was then. This was now. _It will never be that way again. Not without Coulson. Not if S.H.I.E.L.D. never trusts me again._

Clint scaled the fire escape of the building across from the hotel and waited for Natasha to give him a signal. Five minutes later her voice rang over the comms. "_Target eliminated. The deal is set for next week in Amsterdam."_

"_Copy that, Widow,_" their new handler responded. "_A removal team is on its way. Hawkeye, you're clear to return to the pick-up point_."

"On my way," Clint responded. He bit back the urge to sigh again. He had been hoping for a little more action, something to keep his mind off his situation. Securing his weapons, he climbed back down the fire escape and dropped into the alley.

Then someone grabbed his bow and everything went to hell.

* * *

Clint woke slowly, his brain sluggish. He tried to stretch, but his limbs screamed in pain and were quickly jerked to a halt. That was enough to make him force his eyes open. He blinked, trying to see through the blood clouding his vision from what was no doubt a spectacular head wound. His arms and legs were chained to a wall. All around him was dark and quiet and warm.

Clint took a quick catalogue of his body. Other than the cut on his forehead, he didn't seem to be badly injured. He definitely had a few bruised ribs, but that wasn't too bad. Maybe he could get out of this.

Struggling against the chains, Clint realized that his bow and quiver were gone. However, most of his knives and guns remained on his person. _Why would they take the time to chain me and not search me more thoroughly?_

There were only two options. Either his kidnappers were complete idiots, which was unlikely considering how easily they had captured him, or they didn't feel threatened enough by him take the time to search him thoroughly. Which was probably not a good thing.

Grimacing, Clint blinked the blood out of his eyes and looked up. With his vision slightly more clear, he could make out a torch that illuminated the other end of the room. Following its sinister glow, his eyes landed on another chained captive.

He recognized him in an instant. Loki.

"Well, shit."

* * *

Clint forced his eyes back open. Had the sight of Loki alone really made him black out? "Shit. Shit. Shit," Clint repeated. No, it wasn't Loki. It was the head wound. It had to be.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply. Out of sight, out of mind. There was no way that had been captured in the middle of a mission only to be put in the same prison as Loki. It didn't make sense. It wasn't possible. When he opened his eyes Loki wouldn't be there. In fact, Clint wouldn't be there either. He would wake up in the medical bay on the Helicarrier with a nasty concussion and Natasha berating him for not being more careful.

Clint opened his eyes. He was still chained to the wall, and that bastard Loki was still at the other end of the room. "Shit."

He groaned, then mentally slapped himself. Fantasizing was not going to help him. He had to focus on how to get out of here and return to the Avengers Tower so he could tell Thor to come lock up his crazy brother. _Okay. I can do this. I've gotten out of worse situations._

With his newfound purpose, Clint refocused his energies on his chains. His thoughts were correct – he had gotten out of worse. Within minutes, he had one hand freed. He worked in a frenzied speed, ignoring caution in a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get away from Loki. He couldn't be near the person who made him turn on his allies. The person who made him reveal Natasha's darkest secrets and use them against her. The person who killed Coulson. He just couldn't.

Clint fell forward, grunting in pain as his forearms connected with the group. He grit his teeth, pushing all thoughts of Loki aside. Distractions were what got spies killed, and he refused to let Loki have that kind of power over him ever again. Pushing himself up slowly, Clint balanced his body weight on his left arm as he twisted his body so he could set his right hand to work on freeing his legs.

"Hello, Agent Barton. I see you've almost finished freeing yourself. To be honest, I thought you'd be out already. It's a bit of a disappointment."

Startled, Clint's head jerked upwards and he fell back to the ground, now tethered to the wall by only the chain on his left leg. Above him was a man in what appeared to be some kind of combat gear and a mask that covered his entire face except for his eyes. Clint narrowed his eyes. Why hadn't he heard the man enter? Where had he come from? And was his captor really mocking him instead of punishing him for breaking free of his chains?

"All in due time, Clinton," the man said, somehow managing to reply to all of Clint's unspoken questions without giving the captive a direct answer.

He reached down and easily broke the cuff connecting Clint's chain to the wall. Clint raised an eyebrow in shock, opening his mouth to ask a question, but quickly thought better of it, instead scrambling to his feet and pulling out a gun. "Who the hell are you?"

The masked man sighed and tutted in annoyance. "It's rather rude to threaten someone who just helped you, isn't it Clinton? Still, I suppose a name would make things easier. You can call me 'M,' Clinton."

"Stop calling me that. Where am I? And why is he here too?" Clint growled, gesturing with his gun.

M's eyes narrowed. "What did I just say about being rude? And in front of your friend too? Manners, Barton." He reached down and snatched Clint's gun out of his hands, twisting the barrel until it was useless. "Besides, your gun wouldn't be of any use against me. Now, I suggest that you sit down and stop wasting your energy. I'll be back for you when they want to see you."

M reached over to Clint and pushed down on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Clint stared up in disbelief as the man walked backwards to the opposite wall, unable to process the conversation. "Wait! Who's 'they?'"

Pausing at the question, the man stopped to smile. He threw the contorted gun at Clint, striking the smaller man across the forehead. "All in due time."

Clint's vision blurred from the impact, making it hard to see his captor. Still, Clint was pretty sure that he saw the man disappear through the wall. No door needed. _Huh. Maybe that's one of the perks of being evil._

As his vision cleared again, Clint began analyzing the conversation he just had. His captor wasn't worried about Clint being free, or about him having access to his weapons. Clint knew from experience that a man like that was bad news.M's lack of concern indicated that his plan was solid enough to withstand any of the Hawk's resistance.

Swallowing his fear, Clint felt his training kick in and Hawkeye take over. Standing slowly, he took stock of the rest of the room. Truthfully, it was closer to a cave, but it seemed to have no entrance. The floor was relatively smooth, but the walls were uneven, jutting out farther in some places than others and making it difficult to get an accurate assessment of the size of the cave. The torch on the wall just barely illuminated the other part of the cave.

Clint took several paces towards Loki and stopped near the torch. Hidden behind a protruding section of rock, he steeled himself to move forward. He was Hawkeye, the best archer in the world. He was not afraid of Loki. Facing him would only make him stronger. Besides, the crazed god was still bound in chains.

Clint bit his lip, trying to ignore the voice of doubt in the back of his head. _"There's a reason you're an archer, Hawkeye,"_ it taunted. _"Distance is what keeps you safe. Remember what happened last time you got close to Loki?"_

He shook his head to remove the voice, then instantly regretted that action as his head pounded dangerously and he tripped forward. He caught himself before he fell, stumbling past the torch and stopping within feet from Loki's hanging form.

Clint steadied himself and looked up. Loki was chained about a foot off the wall, his body hanging limply, not trying to fight his restraints. He was dressed in a thin tunic and pants. Clint smirked. The god looked a lot less threatening without his "Reindeer Games" helmet on. The smirk disappeared as Clint's eyes found Loki's face. The god's skin was stretched and twisted in odd scars. Clit recognized them as acid burns. Loki's lips were sewn shut with thread pulled tautly.

Clint resisted feeling pity. After his last encounter with Loki, he had sworn that, Thor's brother or not, he would kill the god if he ever had the chance. While, from what he could see, Asgardian justice was harsh, he still wanted Loki dead. Clint's fingers inched towards one of his knives. It would serve Loki right for all the destruction he had caused. He could avenge Coulson's death.

His hand stilled on the hilt. As much as Loki deserved to be dead, he had also been captured and brought to the cave as a prisoner. Loki might know what was going on. Clint looked up and met Loki's eyes. Instead of seeing the loathing superiority from his capture or fear for his current situation, he saw a look of resigned calm. Loki thought that Clint was going to kill him, and he had accepted that fact. He was ready to die.

Clint released the knife in shock. He had seen that look before. It had been years ago, in a warehouse in a seedy part of a European city. He hadn't been able to follow through with the hit then, and he couldn't do it now.

Clint lifted his hand and curled it into a fist. He smiled. Not killing Loki didn't mean being nice. He punched the chained god across this lower jaw and watched in satisfaction as Loki's body recoiled in pain.

Resigning himself to his decision, Clint reached for the knife and positioned it at the corner of Loki's lips. He wasn't sure if this was the best decision, but he didn't have a lot of options. Besides, the last time he had done something this stupid, it had turned out to be one of the best decisions of his life. "Try not to move. This is going to hurt."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Here's chapter two.**

* * *

Clint stood on his toes to get a better look at Loki's mouth. The stitches were tightly drawn, but the needlework was sloppy. That was definitely Thor's work. Clint grimaced as he turned Loki's head to the side. "What kind of father makes his own children do this to each other?"

Loki stared down at Clint, his dull gaze darkening at the reference to Odin. Green eyes bored into Clint's storm grey orbs as if to answer, "_Not my father_."

Blinking, Clint quickly released Loki's face and took a few steps back. He shouldn't be able to know what Loki was thinking. Maybe it was just because Loki's daddy issues had been well-broadcasted among the Avengers by Thor. The little voice at the back of Clint's head sneered again. _Or, maybe it's because of what he did to you. You two have a special bond._

Well, shit. Of course they did. Clint groaned. This was just perfect. He had a telepathic connection to a psychopathic alien god. As if Loki hadn't done enough shit to him already.

Clint steeled himself against his lingering doubts. He couldn't believe that he was about to do this. He turned and removed the torch from its mount close to the center of the cave and repositioned it on a section of rock a few feet from Loki, casting an eerie shadow on the floor. Next, Clint moved a thick slab of rock close to Loki's feet. He climbed onto the rock and turned so that his eyes were at level with Loki's mouth.

"Here goes nothing."

It was slow, grim work. Though Thor's handiwork was messy, the thread was strong. It took Clint several minutes to saw through each stitch across Loki's mouth, and several more to remove the freed pieces of thread embedded in his lips. The job was worsened when Loki attempted to twist in his chains to escape Clint's torture, forcing the archer to use his free hand to hold the god's head in place while balancing precariously on the rock.

A third of the way through, Clint was forced to slow considerably. Blood was leaking out of Loki's mouth, oozing from red sores on his lips. Clint swallowed in an attempt to suppress his rising nausea. After years as an assassin, he had seen much worse than this. That fact did little to comfort him. There was a difference between seeing and doing, and Clint had certainly never _done_ anything as cruel as this to another being, crazed criminal or not.

Lost in his thoughts of disgust, he nearly missed the increase of fluid that was making the job even more difficult. Clint stilled his hand, glancing up past Loki's mouth. The god's eyes were screwed shut tightly, clearly trying to prevent the exit of the tears that were leaking down his face in pain. Clint stared up. For a moment, he forgot everything that Loki had done to him, all the things that Loki had made him do. In that moment, all he could feel was pity.

Shaking his head, Clint tightened his grip on the knife and continued working. He felt pity for Loki's current situation, but he refused to feel pity for the events that led up to now. This was Loki's own fault, and this pain barely scratched the surface of the world of hell that he deserved.

Clint pulled the last knot of thread out of Loki's upper lip and stepped off the rock, examining his work. Though Loki's lips were free, there was blood crusted around his mouth and some openings were still oozing. Still, Loki was a god, so the areas where Clint had first started with seemed to be healing themselves. They were still red and raw, but were no longer bleeding. Clint frowned. In his brief – albeit intense – experience with wounded Asgardians, they tended to heal more quickly than that.

Shrugging, Clint reached forward and wiped the blood off the knife using Loki's tunic. He wasn't going to worry himself about the state of the god's health. Feeling Loki's eyes on him, he looked back up.

Loki still somehow managed to look like a haughty bastard even with an undignified oral bleed. His green eyes conveyed his message perfectly. "_And the chains?_"

Clint dragged the rock away from the wall and sat down on it, staring back up at Loki. "Uh-uh. I'm not about to let you go free. I only helped you to see what you know."

"_You call torture this helping?_"

The archer shrugged, looking away. The telepathic connection with Loki was disconcerting. He wished there was something for him to climb in this cave. He would feel much more confident if he could be up high in a nest, putting distance between himself and the bleeding god. "Do you know where we are?"

Loki's mouth twitched painfully as he tried to form words. He emitted a strangled, gurgling cry, succeeding only in increasing the bleeding. He turned his head to the side and spat blood, the dark liquid landing near Clint's feet.

"Okay, no talking then," Clint replied. He was beginning to regret his decision. Loki didn't seem to be able to help him.

"_Come here._"

Clint looked up sharply. The message was clear, but he wasn't about to fall for it. "I'm good down here, thanks."

Loki rolled his eyes and glared down. Clint had to admit that he was impressed with the level of asshole that the god managed to achieve with only his eyes. "_Does it look like I can harm you in my state?_"

Crossing his arms, Clint glared up. "You didn't look so threatening last time either. It was your glowy stick of death that did the harming."

Clint could practically feel Loki sigh. "_I can tell you what I know. Now, come here, and touch my forehead._"

Clint moved the rock back to Loki's feet and stood on it, peering into Loki's eyes. The god was still in chains. He had nowhere to go. Still, that didn't mean that Clint wanted to _touch_ him ever again. He took a breath, reminding himself that he could easily kill Loki in five different ways without needing to reach for his knife. Reassured, Clint lifted his right hand tentatively and lightly pressed two fingers to Loki's left temple.

He barely had time to register that Loki's forehead was much to cool for their surrounding before he felt himself jerking forward. Suddenly, he couldn't move his limbs and he felt his mind flow into Loki's. Clint whipped his head around trying to take in all that he could about Loki's mental state before he was forced to the side as a memory took over.

* * *

_The first thing Loki noticed was the pain._

_Or, rather, the lack thereof. _

_He blinked in disbelief. The last thing he remembered was his cell on Asgard, with that damned snake dripping its caustic venom onto his face. He shuddered at the memory. Even now, he could feel the liquid, cool as it hit his face but quickly burning paths through his skin. It burned his eyes, his nose, and even managed to bore through the thread holding his lips together just long enough for him to choke out an agonized cry before the sutures resealed themselves._

_Loki shook his head slightly. He was definitely out of range of the snake. His skin had healed considerably, which took far longer than the periodic respites the snake gave him. But how? His cell was in the dungeons of Odin's palace, guarded by fierce warriors who would die following their orders to keep him in. That was, if he could somehow break free from his chains without his magic, fight off the snake, and manage to stay conscious long enough to pick the lock to his cell without any of the guards noticing. _

_He frowned and tried to move, but was quickly stopped by the sound of chains clanking on both his arms and legs. He was trapped against a wall. So, wherever he was, he was still a prisoner. _Wonderful. Trading a cell in his former home for one in an unknown location.

_Loki forced his eyes open again, trying to see through the haze that clouded his still-healing vision. He could dimly make out the other end of the room. The walls were dark, illuminated by a single torch burning from its mount on the wall. There was nothing distinct. It was as though he had been dropped into the middle of a mountain and left to die._

_Which, considering his actions in recent months, was a distinct possibility._

_Loki craned his neck in all directions. There was nothing. He couldn't even make out a door or entrance. He was, once again, truly stuck._

_Hissing in frustration, Loki shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe. Maybe he could put a positive spin on this. Maybe the distance from Odin meant that he could use magic again. After all, if he was as far away from Asgard as he was beginning to suspect, the Allfather wouldn't be able to continue to withhold his power._

_Steeling himself to his new task, Loki breathed deeply and reached inside himself to summon the familiar power. He felt it at the back of his mind and smiled, welcoming it like an old friend. He cast a simple spell to further illuminate the dark cell._

_Loki opened his eyes. It was still dark._

_Forcing himself not to panic was more difficult this time. His magic was definitely back – he could feel it lurking in the recesses of his mind. But, for whatever reason, he could not unlock it and manipulate it to do his bidding. Loki felt even more powerless than he had on Asgard._

_Whoever moved him to this new hellhole seemed to know how to make him weak. He struggled in vain with his chain, desperately trying to pull himself away from the wall. After a few minutes, Loki fell back against the wall in despair, covered in sweat._

_He frowned again, mouth moving as far as it could without moving the sutures on his lips._ Why was he so exhausted. Why so much sweat? Had he really grown so weak during his imprisonment? _Now that he thought about it, his new prison was rather hot. In fact, the longer he considered this, the warmer it became. While the snake's venom had burned him quickly, this sweltering heat was roasting him slowly. He could barely think straight._

_Then he realized the connection. The heat. His magic. His magic had been restored to him because he was out of range of whatever controls Odin had placed over him. However, he was still, biologically, a Frost Giant. And there was a reason the Frost Giants lived on the frozen wasteland of Jotunheim. Warm climates were detrimental to them, limiting their powers and sapping their strength._

_Loki forced his eyes shut and tried to calm his rapidly breaths. Panic would not help his situation. He needed to stay calm and focused. He would find a way out of this place. He would regain his powers. He would-_

"_Hello."_

_Loki's eyes snapped open. He squinted, scanning the dimly lit cell in search of the ringing voice._

"_I'd say you were rude for not replying, but considering your circumstances, that's not exactly an available option, is it?"_

_Loki's squint turned into a glare. His captor was staying out of sight and mocking him._

"_I suppose you're wondering who I am, where you are, why you're here – all the standard questions."_

_Loki continued to glare, though the effect was lessened because he wasn't sure where to aim his scathing gaze_. I would settle for knowing where you are, you cowardly bastard.

"_I'm right here."_

_Loki's eyes snapped up. A figure stood a few inches away from him, smirking. Or, at least, Loki thought that he was smirking based on his tone. His captor wore a mask that covered his entire face, save for his dark eyes. Still, something about him seemed vaguely familiar…_

_The captor shook his head. "All in due time. And don't worry about getting lonely – a friend will be joining you soon enough." Then, without any further comment, the man walked backwards, keeping his eyes trained on Loki, before vanishing through the wall._

_Loki blinked furiously, trying to understand his situation. He was trapped in an unknown prison without any power and his captor had a sarcastic sense of humor and seemed to be able to read his mind._

_Overloaded with information, Loki tried to find a better way to describe his situation. His mind stumbled across a phrase he had picked up on Midgard from Barton, his rebellious minion._

_Well, shit._

* * *

Clint blinked, suddenly released from Loki's mind. He stumbled off the rock, trying to clear his head. This was a different sensation from before. His previous experience had been Loki messing around inside of his head, playing around and essentially "mind raping" him, as Tony had dubbed it. This was almost the opposite. Though he hadn't been able to move his body, Clint had been inside Loki's mind. Just before the memory started, he got a brief glimpse of the god's pain and anger, acid green cracks running ragged through his psyche.

He felt pity surge inside of him again. From what he had seen and felt, Loki was every bit as lost and broken as Clint had once been. The archer almost found himself wishing that Loki had someone to save him the way Coulson had done for himself. Clint forced those thoughts out of his mind. Loki did not deserve pity because he killed Coulson.

Still, it was a relief knowing that Loki seemed to be cut off from the major firepower in his arsenal of magic. The knowledge that the god was now essentially an extremely strong human with an inclination toward theatrics comforted the archer. He smirked up at Loki. "Glad to see that I expanded your vocabulary."

Loki glowered down at him. Clint smirked and sat down below the torch, his back against the wall while he faced Loki. "That wasn't very helpful information-wise though. I was looking for something more along the lines of, 'We're in a military prison in Somalia, but it's okay because Thor can swing by and pick us up before we miss dinner.' Do you know anything useful? All I've got so far is that the guy with the mask likes to call himself 'M.'"

Loki's eyes widened in fearful recognition. Clint grit his teeth. That couldn't be good. "You know him?"

Loki nodded.

Clint narrowed his eyes. "And you know him how, exactly?"

Loki looked away, moving his shoulders in what Clint assumed was a failed attempt at a shrug.

"What did you do?" Clint persisted angrily.

Loki's eyes fixed on him again. "Something as bad as you have, apparently," he said hoarsely.

_Great. Now he can talk again. _Clint balled his hands into fists. "So why are we here?"

The god looked back at him, his gaze uncertain. Clint found himself almost regretting his question, so he repeated it softly. "Do you know why?"

Loki shook his head slightly. "No," he ground out slowly, "but I can tell you about M."


	3. Chapter 3

**Again, thanks for all the reviews, updates, and favorites.**

* * *

Clint rolled his neck lazily and tilted his head back to rest against shoulders. Now that Loki was actually speaking audibly instead of doing that creepy telepathy thing, he was beginning to enjoy having the god chained up. "So, how do you know the mysterious M?"

"'Know' is the wrong term," Loki replied haughtily, barely masking a glare.

Clint grinned. Loki hated this. That made it even better. "Is there a different way you'd like to phrase it?"

"Yes," Loki said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Until now, I had never had the misfortune of meeting him personally. I have, however, heard stories."

"Of…?"

Loki twisted in his chains, sighing. "He is, essentially, what you Midgardians refer to as a private contractor. Rather like the previous profession of your fiery-headed mewling quim."

Clint leapt up from the floor and had a knife drawn across Loki's throat in seconds. "Don't you dare talk about her," he growled. "Ever."

"Duly noted," Loki replied dryly, barely keeping a smirk off his face at the rise he'd gotten out of the archer. "Though I make no promises. After all, I am the God of Mischief."

Resisting the ever-present urge to punch Loki, Clint returned to his previous position against the wall, but kept the kept the knife in his hands. "Keep going. Try to keep the insults to a minimum, asshat. So M is a mercenary?"

"That and much more," Loki continued calmly, his voice quickly recovering. "I do not think that is the reason why he captured us. If it was, we would likely already be dead. He is merely a middle man – albeit a highly skilled and dangerous one."

"So 'M' is for 'middle man?'"

"I do not know for certain. No being that I have ever encountered has lived to know his true name and origins."

Clint twirled the knife in his fingers, itching for his bow. The more he found out about this situation, the worse it got. "If he's not going to kill us, why bring us here at all?"

"I suspect that he captured us because we are wanted by someone or something else."

Clint tapped the knife against the ground, thinking. "He did mention something earlier about 'them.' I guess that's who he's holding us for. But why?"

Loki cocked his head to the side. "Your guess is as good mine, Clinton." The knife bounced off the wall inches to the side of the god's throat, prompting him to continue. "I have been alive for centuries, and have angered many beings across the nine realms. However, as of late, I have been tied up in a cell with a venomous snake. I am certainly interested in what they want _you_ for, mortal."

Clint shrugged and retrieved the knife. He was changing his earlier opinion about an audible Loki. The god was getting more annoying by the second, and Clint was beginning to regret freeing his lips. The next time Clint threatened him he would have a hard time resisting the urge to go through with the kill. "Couldn't tell you. I disappeared in the middle of an op, though, so people on Earth will be looking for me."

"On Earth. They will be looking for you _on Earth_. I seriously doubt that we are still on Midgard," Loki pointed out, rolling his eyes. "I was taken from a cell in Odin's palace. My disappearance will also be noticed, though not missed," he finished bitterly.

"Nobody visits you?" Clint asked before he could stop himself. His time spent around Thor had given him the impression that no member of the royal family was ever lonely for long.

"Not often. Odin hasn't seen me since my sentencing. Thor visits on occasion, but his trips to the dungeon are short, loud, and usually involve him discussing his exaggerated exploits. Frigga comes regularly, even though seeing me in such a state causes her great pain."

Clint cocked his head to the side, examining Loki closely. During his short but painful duration as Loki's minion, the god had occasionally gone on rants about his intense hatred for Asgard, but had been careful to conceal any personal feelings. The story that Thor later told the archer explained some of Loki's past, but suffered from several gaping holes. As long as they were stuck together and Loki was safely chained up, Clint might as well find out exactly why Loki became a psychopathic inter-dimensional killer.

"So what happened after Thor dragged you back home? How long did they lock you up in the dungeons of your house?"

"Asgard is not my home," Loki snapped angrily, straining against his chains. "Whatever I once thought of it, it is no longer. To me, Asgard is a prison."

"Okay, okay, gotcha," Clint said quickly. He suppressed a smile. Finding Loki's weak spot had been surprisingly easy. He had no doubt that this conversation was going to be interesting. Clint settled back against the wall in silence and gave the god a few minutes to calm down before continuing.

"So, what happened on Asgard?"

Loki's eyes darkened. "We were greeted by a legion of warriors. Heimdall knew we were returning and warned them. Thor personally escorted me to Odin, who took the Tesseract and sent it to another dimension. The palace guards locked me in my bedroom, and I was sentenced the next day."

"Is that when…" Clint trailed off, gesturing to Loki's lips.

"Indeed. Odin sentenced me to an eon in the dungeons with a venomous serpent and sewn lips. A fate worse than death, in many ways."

"Why didn't he just kill you? Wouldn't that have been a lot easier?" Clint asked sharply. His common sense chided him for being so brash with a dangerous god. His common sense sounded a lot like Coulson.

"I suspect that Frigga and Thor requested that I be kept alive. I would rather have been dead."

"Thor really loves you, you know. Even after everything you've done," Clint said wistfully, ignoring his common sense again. Dammit. He had not meant that to come out that way. He was a highly skilled assassin. His voice wasn't supposed to be sappy and melancholy.

Loki nodded, conceding the point. "He does. The great buffoon has made that point exceedingly clear. That did not stop Odin from forcing him to sew my lips together. Though that was likely more of a public display of his power as King of Asgard."

Clint noticed that Loki's eyes had drifted away from his own. Once again, the archer had to force the pity away. Something struck him about Loki's story – a father who could be cruel, a brother who loved but didn't understand, and a mother who was torn between her love for her youngest son and her relationship with her husband and eldest son. It was too personal. Clint recoiled against the sudden rush of memories – his father, drunk, advancing on him with a bottle as he huddled behind his mother. A car crash that left him alone with no one but Barney. Barney, his only protector, stabbing him the abandoning him in the rain, leaving him to die in the cold.

He turned away from Loki. Five minutes ago, he had been debating whether or not to kill him. How had he gone from that to feeling sympathy? Turning his head to face the god again, Clint quickly changed the subject to distract himself from his own feelings.

"So, Frigga's your mother, right? What's she like?"

For the first time ever, Clint could have sworn that Loki was smiling at something that didn't involve mischief or lies. It was a genuine smile, one that traveled up his face and reached his eyes. "She is my adoptive mother, yes, though I never suspected it. Unlike everyone else on Asgard, she treated me as Thor's equal. It was she who encouraged me to continue to study sorcery even while the others began to turn their backs to me. Even now, I believe that she still thinks of me as her son."

"And do you still think of her as your mother?" Clint blurted out by accident. The mini Coulson in his head kicked him. _Keep your mouth shut, Barton, or prepare to face the consequences._

Loki nodded. His eyes were bright and full of tears. "I do," he said softly.

Clint bit his lip. _Here come the consequences._ Suddenly it was much harder to keep the pity at bay. Too much of Loki's story paralleled his own. Clint understood what it felt like to be alienated in your own home and to have complete trust twisted into isolation and abandonment. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't hate Loki for his past. Clint looked down at his knife. Parts of him still resisted the sudden emotional onslaught, but his mind was made up.

Standing, Clint gripped the knife and climbed onto the rock to face Loki. "I want to get this straight from now. I hate you for what you did to me, the things you made me do, and all the things you did while you were playing your fucked up version of king of the world. I will never forgive you for killing Coulson. Got it?"

Loki nodded numbly, acutely aware of the proximity of the knife but unsure of where the one-way conversation was heading.

Clint sighed and flipped the knife in his hand. "But, seeing as how we're pretty much fucked anyway and since you've been punished pretty well, I'll let you down if you promise to play nice. That means keeping the comments and name calling to a minimum and not killing me, got it? Especially that last part?" Clint had to resist the urge to laugh. Years ago, when he had first started working for S.H.I.E.L.D, Coulson had given him speeches like that. Then again, more recently, to Natasha after Clint brought her in. The familiar words reminded him of his mentor.

Clint squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the memories. The last hour had been far too personal for his liking. Still, something told him this was the right move. "So, do you think you can handle that?"

The archer looked up. Shining green eyes met his grey-blue ones in a tacit promise. "Okay. Let's get you down."

* * *

**I realize that this chapter was mostly about Clint sympathizing with Loki, but the common ground serves as the foundation for their upcoming adventures. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Again, thanks for all the positive responses to this story!**

* * *

Loki fell to the ground with an undignified "Oof." Clint smiled slightly, but kept a firm grip on the knife in case the god decided to attack. Glaring at the archer, Loki stood slowly, then folded his arms across his chest and stepped back to examine Clint.

"You're shorter than I remember."

Clint rolled his eyes. _That_ was what the god was going to lead with? Really? Weren't princes supposed to have manners and other regal shit like that? He shrugged. He was an orphaned ex-carnie. Who was he to judge? "Fuck you."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you desire, Clinton? If only I had known when you were my slave. We could have had quite a bit of fun together."

"Shut up, asshole." Clint took a few steps back from Loki, gripping the knife tightly. He was not going to fight the god, no matter how much he wanted to. _That would be idiotic, Hawkeye_.

"But I suppose that I enjoyed myself anyway. The scepter gives off most magnificent vibrations when you use it to kill," Loki continued, smiling predatorily.

Clint took a deep breath and backed away from Loki. The god was mocking Coulson's death. No, not death. Murder. Clint quickly surveyed Loki. The archer had certainly taken down larger men, and Loki was in a weakened state without his magic._ But he's still a god. _

"Really, my only regret is that we never got to carry through with our plans for the quim."

_I will not fight a god, I will not fight a god_, Clint chanted under his breath, trying to listen to his common sense for once. Subconsciously he took a quick inventory of what weapons were still available and dropped into a fighting stance.

"Do you remember what I was going to make you do to her? It would have been a work of art. Can you imagine how deliciously afraid she would have been when the only person she trusts in the world raped her? Maybe I should have left your other friend alive long enough to watch."

Clint snapped. _Screw it. The bastard deserves this. _He dropped into a crouch and launched himself at Loki.

Which, apparently, was the god's plan.

Loki easily sidestepped Clint and whirled around, planting a boot in the middle of the archer's back as the shorter man's momentum carried him into the wall. Clint struggled as he felt Loki crouch beside him, the boot replaced with a cold hand on the back of his neck, but couldn't throw him off.

"You think you can defeat me, Hawkeye? You think that a mere mortal can defeat the God of Mischief and Lies?" Clint squirmed under Loki's grip, the god's breath hot on his exposed neck. "Did you believe that you could atone for your sins by offering me a truce?"

Loki flipped Clint onto his back and snatched the knife away, lowering the blade the archer's abdomen. "You were a rebellious slave, though you were still very useful in the end. Therefore, I will allow you to choose your punishment. Where would you like me to put this knife, Clinton?"

Clint glared at Loki. "Up your ass."

"I think we both know that isn't one of your options," Loki tutted, looking mildly amused. "Maybe I shall remove that heart of yours. Your emotions have certainly caused you a lifetime of trouble – I saw enough of that when I shifted through your memories. They made you so very annoying to control."

That was far from the first time Clint had heard that. Coulson and Fury had him pegged as a troublemaker from day one. He ignored the painful memories of Loki poking around in his brain for his deepest secrets and replied defiantly. "They make me human. They let me love. Maybe if you had some yourself your family wouldn't hate you so much." It was a low blow, but in the face of a painful death, Clint couldn't bring himself to care.

Glowering, Loki lowered his head until he and Clint were almost nose-to-nose. "They are not my family, and I have done nothing wrong. My deeds are only the results of Odin's lies. Were you really foolish enough to believe the lies I told you to set me free?"

Clint grit his teeth and forced himself to meet Loki's eyes. He was not going to die letting Loki think that he had won. He steeled himself and glared back at Loki. As their eyes met, Clint felt an electric blue flame flickering at the back of his mind roar to life.

He and Loki were still connected, and the connection went both ways. "You're lying."

Loki abruptly pulled his face away, allowing Clint to scramble out of his grasp. "What are you talking about mortal?" The god demanded.

Clint smiled. He could feel Loki scrambling to figure out what had just happened, to close the openings in his psyche. The archer pushed against Loki, exploring the vulnerable gaps in the god's mind. "About your family. Everything you told me before was true."

Loki frowned, silent for once. Clint pushed the connection further, wondering exactly how much access he had to Loki's mind. The electric blue probed deep into the acid green recesses of the god's psyche. "In fact," the archer continued, "you picked me for your number two on purpose. When you said that I "had heart," you saw everything about my past and you felt sympathy. You thought we were similar. You…were trying to help me," Clint finished in surprise.

The god sneered at him, leaning forward to draw the knife across Clint's throat. "Very good, archer. However, whatever I may once have thought of you changed once I had to spend a considerable amount of time and energy controlling you. So, I return to my original question: where should I stab you first? Or maybe I should cut out your tongue so you can no longer voice these inane thoughts."

Clint's eyes turned steely. "Those thoughts are the truth, and we both know it."

Loki pressed the knife down hard enough to knick Clint's throat, releasing a trickle of blood. "What's the phrase you used earlier? 'Fuck you?'"

"Now boys, is that really a proper way to treat each other?"

Clint and Loki both looked up for just long enough to register the voice as M before Loki was ripped off Clint and thrown across the cave into the opposite wall. M picked up the knife and threw it at the god, impaling his shoulder. "I was contracted to bring both of you in alive. If you can't play nice, you're both going back into shackles. Do we have an understanding?"

"Hey, he's the one who tried to kill me," Clint said defensively, glaring at M.

"True," M said mildly, seeming amused. "It was very kind – though foolish – of Clinton to let you down, Loki. You should thank him."

Loki looked so angry that he was beginning to turn purple in the face, his glares flickering between the other two men. Clint snickered in his corner.

"Don't get cocky, Clinton. I need you alive, but tongues are optional," M scolded. "We're waiting, Loki."

Loki gazed up at M in disbelief and rolled his eyes. "Very well. Clinton, I'm sorry that I threatened your quim and mocked your puny friends. I am also so very sorry that I didn't kill you when I still had the chance."

M shrugged. Clint could have sworn that he was smiling behind his mask. "Close enough. I'm beginning to feel that way about the two of you."

Clint suppressed another chuckle. Only he could manage to piss off two supervillains as much as he pissed off Coulson and Fury. He was on a roll, so he might as well keep going. "Shouldn't you be busy killing kittens or something instead of teaching us manners?"

M turned his gaze back to Clint. "I actually rather like cats, Clinton. I do hate unicorns though, the filthy cretins," he deadpanned, heading back for the wall. "And I much prefer it when things remain civil. You boys have about thirty hours before I hand you off. Do try not to kill one another before then. I'll be watching."

Clint watched M leave and quickly analyzed the last five minutes. He had been right earlier – he was screwed. Even though he had escaped the possibility of Loki killing him, there were only thirty hours until M handed him off to God-knows-who for them to do God-knows-what to him. There was nothing left to do. Well, nothing to continue to piss off Loki.

The archer wiped the worry off his face and turned to give Loki a lazy smirk. "You're right. I really do have a lot of fun with you."

Loki glared at him from across the cave as he slowly removed the knife from his shoulder. Clint whistled. M had thrown it so hard that the blade had gone all the way through, the tip protruding from Loki's back. "Ouch."

"Yes, mortal. That was rather painful," Loki said absently, poking at his shoulder. Clint glared at the god. He was a little bit jealous of the other man's healing ability. Given how often Clint ended up in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medical wing, that power would come in handy.

Still, after their conversation with M, Loki seemed to have calmed down. Maybe Clint would hold off on exploring their mental connection in favor of resting for a bit. _Let him be if you want to keep your tongue_. _Listen to your common sense for once._

Clint shrugged and moved into a more comfortable position. That was a good idea. Besides, if he only had thirty hours to live, he wasn't going to waste time in another one-sided wrestling match with Loki. "Since we're not getting out of this and M has a thing for law and order, can we call a truce?"

"And all is forgiven?" Loki asked mockingly.

"Let me rephrase that. We'll call it an armistice instead - I still hate you, and you still seem pretty determined to kill me. But if it's possible, I'd like to spend the next thirty hours relaxing _with_ my tongue attached."

Loki eyed Clint carefully, taking in the archer's relaxed posture. The god nodded, and tossed the blood-covered knife to the side. "Alright then. An armistice for thirty hours, or until that tongue of yours angers me."

Clint groaned. With Loki, that was probably the closest he was going to get to peace. He would have to pay close attention to everything that came out of his mouth. The archer settled his head onto his arms and kept his gaze trained on Loki. "So, what was it that M was saying about unicorns?"

Loki rolled his eyes. "They are a most disgusting species. I know not how midgardians have come to cultivate such an innocent view of them. I remember once, long ago, Thor and I were exploring another realm..."

Clint relaxed as Loki dove into the story. He didn't have any control over what happened after these thirty hours, but with a little luck he would face it with his tongue intact.

* * *

**At this point, Clint and Loki have found some common ground - though neither of them likes it - and they seem to getting along. Up next: jailbreak.**


End file.
